


Once More

by Wanderer (Straggler)



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Major Character Injury, Other, Paralysis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-13
Updated: 2011-12-13
Packaged: 2017-10-27 06:44:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/292779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Straggler/pseuds/Wanderer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If either of them noticed how their roles suddenly switched — a twist of the moment of how they first met — they chose not to mention it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Once More

It had been an accident.

 

The hatch had been left open; it was an accident. Nobody knew that Charles had unclipped his seatbelt to assist Hank by the control panels while Alex tried to provide perfectly timed-distractions as Sean fought and screamed outside.

 

There were fighter jets flying over them, threatening to shoot them down, there were navy boats beneath them, trying to get a good aim at them while all the X-Men were trying to do was protect them from all the Brotherhood members gathered just above the oceans’ surface in the submarine. Through it all, Charles desperately tried to multi-task against everybody.

 

His mind was split too many ways; on the pilots of the jets so they would fly past them and not through them, on the ships so they would desist and not waste missiles on what seems to be just thin air and empty waters, on Alex who was on the hatch with the aim to stop but not maim or kill and on Sean to guide him around Riptide’s waterspouts as well as Angel’s acidic spit and from Emma’s telepathic barrage.

 

Emma’s mental attacks were relentless, bright spots of pure light in his eyes and mind, the one that took the most of his attention, but he strove to shield them all from her and to keep Azazel at bay. If he weren’t caught up with trying to do so many things, dealing with her first would’ve made things easier.

 

‘Tell Magneto to let us go! Does he want to get us killed?!’ Hank shouted at him while he grappled with the controls that would no longer obey his will.

 

‘He just wants information, and I don’t want anybody to die, so let’s just—’ the jet jostled to the side, it wasn’t turbulence. Charles ignored it as he kept one hand gripped on the back of the seat while his other was raised to his temple. ‘I’m telling the pilots to return back to base, and I’ve got the navy to ignore us.’ He was straining, beads of sweat were gathering on his forehead and crawling down his jaw line; he’s never had to focus on this many people before. There were four navy ships upon them and there were at least five hundred to seven hundred odd people to keep in control.

 

Then suddenly, Alex started shouting at them.

 

‘Incoming!’

 

Charles gasped; one of the fighter jets were flying too low, too close; they were going to collide.

 

Hank pulled the control down and their jet lurched heavily to the side, dipped downwards and tipped upwards, then the sound of metal upon metal screeched at their ears and Hank howled, clapped his hands over his ears. The jet grazed above them, pushing heavily down on them, and there was no one controlling their jet. Charles lost his grip on the back of Hank’s seat, lost his focus on the pilots and crews and he could suddenly hear them snapping to attention and shouting orders – _hands on stations, prepare the missiles, ready on my mark_ —and he belatedly realized that he forgot to apply the brakes.

 

His chair tipped to the side and Charles felt his body spasm at the shot of pain as he landed heavily on the floor and tumbled his way towards the open hatch.

 

‘Professor!!’

 

Alex was flat on the floor, one hand tight on the latch connecting him to safety, and the other arm outstretched towards him. Charles reached as he continued to slide towards the open hatch. He couldn’t find any grip, his legs were useless and he didn’t have the upper body strength for this. Their fingers passed each other.

 

‘Charles!!’

 

He gasped again as Alex disappeared from his view and he watched the underside of the jet rise further above him. He fell and barely had two seconds to gather his wits about him before his lungs collapsed at the harsh impact on his back.

 

Everything hurt, everything _hurt_ and he struggled against his useless weight and at the sluggish gravity that surrounded him. There was barely a scrap of air in his lungs and his mind couldn’t win against his limitations; adrenaline could only provide so much.

 

He was going to drown.

 

 _Charles!_

 

He felt what little air he had left in his lungs escape him in a burst of bubbles. He felt his arm being pulled and he felt something wrap around his chest, guiding him upwards. They broke the surface with a gasp and Charles tried to cough out the sea water and draw in air at the same time. He wheezed and wished the arm holding him would relent so he could _breathe_. Behind him, he could hear a mantra of words being murmured in his ear.

 

‘You’re alright, just breathe, calm down, you’re alright.’

 

Everything _hurt_ , and he tightened his grip on the arm around him, holding him like a lifeline. _Please, don’t let me go._

 

Charles didn’t know what made him say it, how desperate he must sound, how bedraggled he must look. But he didn’t care; he didn’t care because after so long, after so, so long, he could hear Erik again, he could feel him pressed against his back and surrounding him. Erik is here and he’s real, not a dream and most definitely not a projection.

 

Then his fatigue took over.

 

\-- __

The implication that he might possibly hurt himself didn’t occur to him as he jumped off the deck and into the dark waters. The possibility that he might’ve underestimated the distance between them didn’t come to mind until his fingers missed just by the tiniest of fractions and he found himself slipping further downwards into the sea, watching in abject horror as Erik and the submarine continued to fade away into the blackness. He didn’t realize just how bad it was going to get until he began to drown and he realized that he was going to die because he couldn’t feel his legs.

 

\--

 

Charles woke with a harsh gasp of air that burned down his throat. He tore at the bed sheets that found its way to wrap firmly around him and he struggled against the hand that was holding him down from injuring himself. It wasn’t until the muted din, which came with the dream of drowning, sharpened that he realized that Erik was trying to calm him down with a litany of murmured reassurances.

 

He flopped back down on the bed with a relieved cry and he felt his body sag along in exhaustion. Everything still hurt, but the burn in his lungs and the growing migraine took precedence over every other ache he felt on his body.

 

No matter how many times he came close to brushing shoulders with Death, it was still a jarring experience; an eye-opener. He didn’t think he’d ever get used to it, and he didn’t think he’d ever want to—the moment he got used to it would be the moment he no longer cared enough.

 

When tangled sheets began to pull away from his body, his attention was caught and he turned to Erik with wide eyes mixed with residual fear from the nightmare and renewed hope.

 

‘My friend,’ Charles began in a fond albeit shaky voice as his fingers closed over the sleeve of Erik’s coat.

 

‘Rest,’ he ordered softly as he straightened out the rest of the sheets. ‘You’re safe here.’

 

They were in the Xavier mansion; of course they were safe, and with Erik by his side, the fact was even more so. The fact that that members of the Brotherhood were in his home didn’t even bring up a smidgen of anxiety to rustle through his still-frazzled nerves. At this point, at long as the others didn’t cause any trouble and as long as the both of them were left well alone, then he was fine with it.

 

Charles closed his eyes, willed away the sting and tried to calm his raging heart. He breathed in deeply and sighed, his fingers still clutching the soft fabric of Erik’s clothes. He’ll savor this moment for as long as it lasts and he had a brief thought that maybe he should get into dire situations more often, if it means that Erik will continue to stay by his bedside to make sure he was fine.

 

But no—he pushed the thought away; Erik is a leader, not an orderly to a paraplegic man.

 

‘I was told this is permanent.’

 

Charles opened his eyes to the half-question and looked down to where Erik’s gaze ended—his legs. He drew in another quiet breath and settled his head back on the pillow with his eyes focused on the tall ceiling.

 

‘Yes, it is. It’ll take more adjusting to, but I’ll adapt.’

 

‘Would it have mattered?’ _If I had left the bullet in._

 

Charles’ eyes widened and wondered how he could’ve missed that Erik wasn’t wearing a helmet. He hadn’t realized just how distracted his mind had been that he failed to pick up the soft, quiet and constant murmurs of reassurance flowing from the man beside him. But now that he could see, could feel, hear, taste and _touch_ that familiarity, he felt reluctant to let go of it.

 

‘You’re not wearing your helmet,’ he didn’t know why he mentioned it, but he wanted this action to be voluntary coming from Erik, not something he forgot to do.

 

‘I trust that you won’t take advantage of me.’

 

‘I won’t,’ _I won’t, I won’t, I won’t._

 

Erik nodded the smallest of gestures, easily missed if Charles hadn’t been paying attention. ‘Answer my question.’

 

‘No, it wouldn’t have mattered.’ The nerves were already severed. The last twitches from his leg came involuntarily and faded as they died. If Erik hadn’t taken it out there and then, the doctors would have and it was sure to be twice, if not ten times, more agonizing. Would it have mattered if Erik had left the bullet still lodged in his back? Yes, but not in the way that he was thinking.

 

Erik frowned. The murmuring comfort faded, replaced with a poisoning cynicism that loomed over his head like a dark cloud.

 

Charles tightened his grip and wished he could pull the man away from his thoughts, away from the corruption hovering around his mind; its’ need to _blame_. ‘It’s nobody’s fault; unfortunate, yes, but it was the wrong time and wrong place.’

 

Erik snarled. ‘She shouldn’t have fired in the first place,’ _she knows what I am capable of, and yet…_

 

He shook his head and pulled the man closer. Erik did not relent. ‘Please,’ _please, please, please._ ‘It’s done; it’s over,’ _she’s gone_.

 

Erik snapped his head up to meet his gaze, searching for truth. He found it in sincere blue. ‘You let her go.’

 

He winced at the accidental projection and tried to rein his mind inwards. ‘I—’ _had to. To protect her; to protect_ us _._ ‘It was for the better.’

 

Sometimes, Charles still couldn’t help the overwhelming guilt he felt for his actions of sending her away. Sometimes, he wondered if what he did was necessary: was it for her sake? Or did he think that with her gone, Erik might just come back?

 

He wouldn’t lie; he did it for Erik. But he doubted it would be enough. His pride prevented him from asking, and his respect for Erik made sure he never uttered the question he so desperately wanted to voice.

 

Erik was a crusader; on a mission that did not differ too greatly from Charles, yet the execution of it were poles apart. Erik was walking down a path that couldn’t hold Charles, and no matter how many times he wished it, their paths would no longer align.

 

More times than he could count, he wished he had chosen his words more carefully prior to their separation. How many words would he need? How much more time could he borrow? Would anything have changed at all? Could he have saved them?

 

If he did anything differently, said the right words at the right time, would Erik have stayed? And less important but more selfishly, would he still have the ability to walk?

 

‘Rest,’ Erik commanded softly again, as though sensing the roiling turmoil within Charles. ‘I’ve kept you awake long enough.’

 

Charles clenched his teeth shut so his voice wouldn’t escape from his throat. He pursed his lips together tightly so that his mouth wouldn’t be tempted to say what was on his mind. He tightened his grip on the man’s sleeve so that Erik might stay for a little while longer. He closed his eyes so that he wouldn’t have to see Erik move his other hand over towards the helmet that sat on his bedside table. He turned his head away so he could pretend the empty spot beside him was a mere figment of his imagination, and so that Erik wouldn’t see his tears.

 

He wished he had the strength to fight, the courage to stand up for what he wanted—to just be selfish. As he drifted, he didn’t know if what he was doing was out of cowardice or selflessness. No point in asking; he already knew the answer.

 

When he next woke up, it seemed as though everything that happened the day before (or was it the day before that?) had been nothing but a vivid dream. But when he retreated to his study later that night after the day’s activities were over, he saw that their chess game had been brought out of stasis.

 

He smiled softly as he pulled himself out of check.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I wonder how their reunion would play out in the second movie.
> 
> ...There IS going to be a second movie to this, right?
> 
> Oh God, I hope so...


End file.
